Yet Another Person Posting Drabbles
by flight815kitsune
Summary: A bunch of drabbles, as I have time to type them. Some will be slashy. M to be safe.
1. Rules

Drabbles. I got on a kick and wrote these. Of course I don't own the Metalocalypse universe or characters therein, but I'm borrowing them for my own amusement. Slash. T/S and one-sided N/C. I might add more later, but I'm terrible at updating anything.

Rules.

Skwisgaar followed a short set of rules. They were not all his creation, but they worked. They kept life simple. They were very easy to follow, once.

Toki had been responsible for the breaking of every last one of them.

Rule 1: No caring about band mates.

Rule 2: No braiding of hair. Braids were un-metal.

Rule 3: Do not re-wear clothes. You have money now.

Rule 4: No cuddling. Beds are for screwing and sleeping.

Rule 5: No fucking the same person on multiple occasions.

Rule 6: No getting fucked

Rule 7: There is no such thing as love.

Rule 1: No caring about band mates.

Nathan had created this rule, for the good of the band. If they didn't care, they wouldn't fight. Pickles was proof of caring hurting a band, and Dethklok was not going to go the same way. So, Skwisgaar tormented the Norwegian. He was in charge, he was lead guitar.

But….everyone cared about Toki. He was the most innocent among them. He had little to no experience with drugs or sex or alcohol. Hell, he barely spoke at first.

When he got drunk, he made them all worry. Even Nathan only wanted the best for the brunette.

Skwisgaar was no exception.

Rule 2: No braiding of hair. Braids were un-metal.

Skwisgaar liked his hair as it was: long and blonde and wavy.

The most restraint he would use was a simple ponytail.

That was why he never got drunk enough to get sick. Nothing was more disgusting than vomit in one's hair.

Toki, however, didn't seem to understand this.

Skwisgaar was not about to hold his hair back like the friend of some party girl.

After the young man had vomited for the third time that evening, he had had enough. He sat him down and wove those locks into a single plait.

Toki refused to leave until he matched.

Rule 3: Do not rewear clothes. You have money now.

Because of HER, he had been forced to wear the same thing to school for up to a week.

He never wore the same clothes two days in a row. Not anymore.

He had been drunk. Very drunk.

Charles had called a meeting. His Dethphone had interrupted his sleep, it was urgent.

He had woken up with a bad hangover in a twin bed.

Thankfully, he was fully clothed and had managed to arrive before setting either the manager or lead singer off.

Unfortunately, he was not given the opportunity to return to his room until early the next morning.

Rule 4: No cuddling. Beds were for screwing and sleeping.

This rule had been announced to everyone.

It was in the forms one had to sign to have a private audience.

Even GMILFs were often kicked out as soon as possible.

But Toki had had a nightmare.

He had stumbled in, Deddy Bear in tow, and poked the blonde until his presence was acknowledged.

"Go backs to sleeps…" He had grumbled.

Toki had taken this as a personal invitation, and no argument was raised.

Skwisgaar woke up trapped before dawn, staring the sleeping brunette in the face. Toki was fast asleep, at peace.

He could tolerate this for _one _night…

Rule 5: No fucking the same person on multiple occasions.

The first time was unplanned, rough, and loud. It was drunken, messy, and vague. If it hadn't been Toki, it would have been all too easy to forget.

Through just enough begging from the brunette, he had been persuaded to do it again. The second time was better. Not as rough, not as forgettable, not entirely unplanned…it was still loud.

But the last time was the best. It was slow, planned, and gentle. He had trapped Toki in bed, and he knew from experience just what to do to make the other guitarist scream his name.

Loud, familiar, and…pretty satisfying.

Rule 6: No getting fucked.

There were many women who had landed in his bed, and a few men.

But he was not his mother. He fucked, and he played guitar.

He was not fucked.

Not one of them had complained. They took whatever they could from him, thankful for the opportunity.

Unfortunately, Toki was not one of them.

He had already broken rule 5, and the brunette seemed happy enough…

Toki had to notice his fear, his reluctance, but he didn't mention it.

His kisses were plentiful, his patience endless.

The sex was far from perfect, but there was something deeper there.

Something…incredibly warm.

Rule 7: There was no such thing as "love".

There was affection. The band was his family.

There was lust. He had MANY people to vouch for this.

But love?

Love was something else…

He couldn't even say he loved himself.

Why did Toki always complicate things?

He held the brunette close, absentmindedly (braiding) _doing something_ to the chocolate hair. He was wearing yesterday's clothes, and didn't even care. He had fucked and been fucked, held and was held.

And as the rhythm guitarist snuggled deeper, his sneer faded and his heart skipped a beat.

He barely recognized his own voice as he whispered, "Maybes I loves you, Tokis…."

He had broken every rule. Every last one. Toki had ruined everything .

Well, maybe not ruined, exactly.

He had disproven the rules. He had taken each and proven it wrong, proven it pointless, or rose beyond it.

Maybe his rules were flawed to begin with. But, if that was so, why did I take so long for each one to fall? Why did it have to be _him_ every single time?

Then again, every band member had already broken the main rule because of him.

They all cared for Toki.

Maybe rules were meant to be broken, after all.

Rules: Charles

Charles only had one rule: Remain professional.

It allowed him a good deal of freedom, while allowing him to keep his job.

It's very hard to remain professional when you are being supplied drugs and alcohol by the world's most popular (powerful) band.

It was even harder when the lead singer had to be so damned _tempting_.

He had caressed that soft ebony hair, touched those chiseled features.

Even drunk, he had managed to hold onto a fraction of that rule and gone no farther.

Nathan would never know how close the manager had come to breaking his only rule.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	2. What

Metal Drabbles-

Poor Charlie. I just keep abusing the poor guy. A double length drabble.

"Your actions were illegal, morally questionable, and most importantly, unprofessional."

"I wez jest tryin'-"

"I'm fine with letting my hair down, so to speak, but proper precautions must be taken. I severely injured three Kloketeers due to this. While they may be expendable, it doesn't make good business sense. I would appreciate a bit of a, uh, head's up should you ever feel tempted to repeat last night's actions. Also, I would appreciate it if that particular substance was no longer kept on the premises." He opens the door to his office.

"But it's sahpposed ta be-"

"I don't think you understand." His gaze darkens. Something changes in the way he sets his lips. The mask is slipping. "I thought I was dying. Actually, at the time I was fairly sure that I was dead, but my heartbeat being audible across the hallway kept intruding on that logic." He pushes his glasses back, cold expression seeping in. "Now if you would please…" A sweeping gesture.

Embraced. "Sahrry."

Giving the drummer an awkward pat on the back.

"Yer not allowed ta die yet, Charlie. Yer still under contract." Another squeeze. "Don't ferget that."

Maybe one bad trip had been worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

Flight

More Drabbles.

I have no idea what I'm doing with these characters anymore. You've been warned.

Oh…and I still don't own anything.

X-Scars 1-X

Despite years of football and no fear of involving himself in fights, Nathan wasn't really scarred.

How many people know a man who could punch through a glass meat case at Fintroll and not keep a scratch?

He was a good healer. Maybe it was the Yanamango blood. He did look a lot like his grandfather.

His healing was a small miracle; without it he might not have lived this long. One liver transplant is hard enough on the human body, and he has managed to bounce back quickly from all of them.

The y-shaped incision was his only mark.

X-Scars 2-X

Charles had been marked four times for his boys.

There was a graze on his arm from the masked assassin. His opponent had underestimated him.

The crossbow bolt had left a large scar, and he was lucky to have survived it at all.

The side of his face had been cut, a long gash from midway up his cheek to his eyebrow.

That... looked very unprofessional.

Having to apply cosmetics to attend important meetings was something he would have to repay his assailant for later.

The last mark he carried?

Well, he was a gear in the 'klok, after all.

X-For The Best-X

Pickles dangles a bottle in front of his face.

"Dood…get off the clahk. Yer ganna give yerself a heart attack werkin so hard."

"I assure you, my health is nothing to be concerned about."

Pickles perches on the corner of his desk, carefully avoiding the good lamp. He takes a swig from the bottle. "Save yer stuff…" He dangles the bottle. "It's fer tha best."

"When are you boys working on the album?" He pushes his glasses back.

"Hey. That's all Nat'an, don't looket me."

"You really should. It's for the best."

He could have sworn the manager was smiling.

X-Break-X

Crash.

Slam.

Profanities screamed with a rather distinct accent.

Another cheap lamp meets the carpeted floor of the manager's office, not that the carpet helped much.

"May I ask what, uh, seems to have brought this on?"

A glare, a sneer, and a growled "Murderface."

"Ah. William has done something to upset you, then?"

Smash.

"I'll take that as a yes." He returns to his work. A kloketeer would have to clean this up later.

Hands slam onto his desk, commanding full attention. "I DON'T BELONG IN A GARBAGE CAN!"

Open palms curl into fists, expression suddenly so…lost. "Do I?"

X-Game-X

They were playing the glasses game.

It was easy to play. Someone would ask to see a pair of glasses. They would put them on. They would then make a comment about how blind the owner is, and pass them on to the next player.

You lost if the owner snapped.

Charles was patient, but this was getting old.

Of course, he had no one to blame but himself. Nathan had asked to see them, and he kept telling himself it was the threat of an impending tantrum that had made him agree to it.

" Heres butler mans." Toki…_won_?

X-Clean-X

"Nathan, what are you doing?"

The sounds of paperwork, office supplies, and a good lamp crashing to the floor.

"This is very-" A hiss through gritted teeth.

"S'more brutal." He grunts, Green eyes appraising his victory.

Charles is blushing, clutching the edge of his desk, and intensely aware that the side of his face is wet.

A low chuckle as his assailant leaves as quickly as he came.

" 'Brutality' is not a valid reason to lick makeup off of my face, Nathan!" Called to a shutting door.

He's suddenly very grateful for tailored pants, mahogany desks, and oblivious frontmen.

X-Kitties-X

Toki's cat was staring at him again. The long tail lashes when he meets its gaze.

"What?" He pouts.

Another tail whip.

It was impossible to write while that thing was staring like that.

With its pale fur and strange dark spots.

And those pointed ears and whiskers.

"What do you want?" He snarls.

The cat responds by settling into a new position, never breaking eye contact.

Nathan surveys the room.

"Pss pss pss…"patting his lap.

Nothing.

He makes a series of kissy noises, scratching denim.

Nothing.

"Who's a vicious widdle fluffy? Commeere kitty kitty kitty… Whoosa baby?" growled.

"Scherioushly?"

X-Better-X

He had been led away, chest heaving and a snarl on his face worthy of a god of metal.

The blonde had stepped in with a sneer at the bloody pulp and a calm hand on his shoulder.

"Leave him." The words had left no room for argument.

The tending of the fight bites on his knuckles had been practiced.

"It hurts." He had whispered, expecting a reprimand or to be ignored.

"Pfft. Finally yous talkinks to me." He held one bandaged hand. "This ams the one which ams hurtinks?"

An again-silent nod.

Pouty lips pressed wrapped knuckles. "All betters?"


End file.
